Chapter 16

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours that Hermione had been spending time with Draco, and she was already feeling like she might, possibly, maybe- who knows- fancy him. At least a little. She could admit that it was at least a little. She could admit that he looked good while sleeping, and he had been open with her about himself, tried to apologize- she had stopped him- and he'd also enjoyed being tutored by her, which was all very attractive

The witch thought about how many people had enjoyed her knack for walking them through certain spells, and the list was pretty short. Harry and Ron had abhorred her efforts for years, only to change their tunes in fifth year. For many, actually. But it meant a lot to her that Draco had wanted to be taught, and that he'd listened to her and put in effort. It was attractive to spend time with a man who wanted to learn without her first having to gripe at him for over four years.

Snow was coming down in a deluge. The powder and ice that was already on the ground was only an inch or two from her knees, forcing the witch to grab her wand and extend her boots up to her thighs. Then she continued her trek through the storm and darkness towards Hogsmeade, Puddifoot's soup and brulee on her mind. A hot cup of tea didn't sound bad either. But, what sounded best, was some time outside of the castle and away from the blonde who was plaguing her thoughts. She couldn't shake the thought, look, or feel of him away, and the more seconds that passed like this only made her angrier and angrier at herself.

What was she doing?

What was she thinking?

Had she almost kissed Draco Malfoy? Or did he almost kiss her? And if neither of these things occurred, did she need a psychological evaluation? Had she been imagining the moments that they'd held each other's gaze, or held each other's hand, far too long? He'd admitted he respected and admired her, but that didn't mean he fancied her and wanted to kiss her, right? And, even if that was what that meant, did she want that? Or had she been truly lonely, like he'd deduced the night prior?

She shook her head, because she knew it wasn't from loneliness. She'd been enjoying her space, ever since her trip to Australia. Spending the better part of a year in a tent with her two best friends had not allowed for much privacy or peace, so she'd been taking advantage of the time she got. No… It wasn't loneliness.

But, if that wasn't it, did that mean she genuinely enjoyed Draco's company? His refreshing eagerness to learn? His undeniably good looks that only became more obvious the more he smiled and the less he scowled? How was it even possible for her to enjoy his company after so many years of disliking the man?

There were so many questions running amuck in her mind, and she couldn't even begin to make sense of her thoughts. She'd hoped that a walk in the snow would have made it easy to decipher what she was running from, like it had so many times in the past weeks, but to no avail.

Shaking her head once more, the witch sighed deeply as she stuck her hands into her cloak pockets, wrapping it tightly around her as she continued to walk through the blinding snow.

However blinding and cold the snow was, she still made her way to the little hamlet of Hogsmeade, and down the streets to the doorway of Puddifoot's. Opening the door blasted her with warm air, melting the snow on her clothes and hair, and the Madam came from the back room with a smile on her kind face. A couple eating at a booth and an elder man sitting at the bar with tea service were the only other occupants of the restaurant that night.

"Good evening!" Puddifoot greeted her. "It's good to have you back, dear. Would you like your usual table?" Hermione nodded as she began to make her way to the table in the corner farthest from her, ignoring the looks of admiration she received from the couple in the booth as she went.

This was another reason Hermione had enjoyed her time alone. She hadn't done what she'd done to be a celebrity. She did it to save the poor people who had found themselves on the business end of Voldemort's hate. Dealing with people staring at her every time she stepped outside of her dorm room bothered her to an extent, because she didn't feel like she was anything special.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Thank you, Madam Puddifoot."

"And earl grey with cream?"

"I think I feel up to some chamomile and cream this evening."

Madam Puddifoot nodded, then asked, "Anything to eat? Soup, or eggnog brulee?"

"I will take both. For here," the younger witch replied as she took off her cloak and placed it onto the back of her chair, and removed her pack from her shoulder and set it on the chair beside her. She looked up and around the restaurant to find that the couple was still staring at her, the old man at the bar now joining them, and Hermione decided to do something to keep her busy while she ignored them.

From her pack she pulled out the letter she'd received from her best friends the day before, which she'd read the night prior but had not yet replied to. Unfolding the parchment, she set the two short pieces down onto the table and re-read their contents. By the time she was done, Madam Puddifoot had already delivered her tea and food. So, while simultaneously eating, Hermione Summoned parchment, ink and quill from her pack, so as to begin writing them back.

And, despite knowing that Harry would take the news with an even head, she knew Ron would flip a table if she mentioned she and Draco had been spending time together, so she decided to avoid it.